


C'est La Vie

by modambrosia



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: ...well - Freeform, Bara Sans, Begging, Big Sans, Cock Worship, Dom Sans, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, One Shot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, Teasing, Underfell Sans, Verbal Cock Worship, verbally i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-28 16:03:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14452803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modambrosia/pseuds/modambrosia
Summary: A series of oneshots focusing on you and a skeleton, and the love that the two of you share. Quite a bit of smut, with some fluff added in for good measure. Stories are each individuals and will not be linked together unless stated otherwise.





	1. You Got That Somethin'

**Author's Note:**

> yall can thank @soapymallet for prompting me to write this, and for the ideas for at least the first five or six chapters. 
> 
> no TW for this chapter, just some sweet wholesome domesticity and makin love with ur man

By the time you finally make it home from work, it’s late enough that every home in the neighborhood is silent and dark. Your back aches and a dull throb in your head hints at a headache coming on, and as you fumble around to unlock your front door, all you can do is hope for sleep to take you swiftly once you make it to bed. You don’t expect lights to be on in the kitchen, nor do you expect the slow, gentle hum of music accompanied by the clinking of cutlery and the hissing of a stovetop. Toeing out of your shoes, you make your way towards the commotion as soft as can be, peeking around the entrance archway. 

 

There stands Red, clad in a ratty old tee shirt and a pair of boxers, socked feet sliding around on the linoleum. His small speaker is hooked up to his phone, and he croons along with the melody, singing into the spatula in his hand as though he were performing for an audience. Giggles bubble up inside of you and you slap a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop them, not wanting Red to notice you and end his concert early. However, right as the music picks up again, Red spins around with the spatula held out to you and grins like a fool, purring out the lyrics. 

 

_ “oh please, say to me, you’ll let me be your man...and please, say to me, you’ll let me hold your hand…” _ He shimmies towards you looking nothing short of ridiculous in his stained pajamas with his kitchen utensil microphone, and you let the laughter come freely as he grabs your hand and spins you around into his arms. The microphone is tossed aside in favor of lacing his fingers with your own, holding you close with your back pressed to him, the two of you swaying along to the song as he hums into your ear. 

 

_ “i wanna hold your hand....i wanna hold your hand…”  _ His body is warm and soothing and he holds you tenderly, like something precious, something special, something loved. Each note he rasps into your ear sends shivers down your spine, but the moment isn’t rushed or charged with desire; instead, there’s a gentleness to it, the feeling of easing into a warm tub after a long day. It’s easy and familiar, and relaxing into his hold is like slipping into your favorite old sweater. You stay that way for a moment, just the two of you wrapped up in one another and enjoying the ebb and flow of your souls singing to each other, until the scent of something burnt hints at your nose. Just as you begin to say something, Red mumbles a quiet “aw, fuck,” and releases you to scurry back to the stove. You take this short moment to go upstairs and change into a pair of comfortable pajamas, returning to the kitchen to find the table set. 

 

It’s nothing fancy, just two plates of burgers (a tad bit too well done) with some mac and cheese, but as you scamper over to your seat and take that first bite, you groan around a mouthful, “babe, this is fucking fantastic.” Red snorts and digs in as well and the two of you eat in comfortable silence. A socked foot suddenly prods at your leg, and you giggle and tap him back. The meal continues like that- comfortably quiet, aside from giggles from you and him while the two of you play footsie like a couple of teenagers on a first date. As you finish your meal, you see a spot of mustard streaked along Red’s cheek, and swipe it off with your thumb. The two of you hold eye contact when you pop the digit into your mouth and lick it clean, and moments later, you find yourself lying beneath Red on your bed. Despite the speed at which he’s brought you up here for your horizontal activities, there’s no urgency in the way he brings a hand up to cradle your face. 

 

“so you’re lookin for big daddy to show you a good time, huh?” You giggle, which causes Red to snort and giggle as well. “quit gigglin, if  _ you  _ start laughin’ then  _ i’m  _ gonna start laughin too, doll,” he tries to growl around his mirth. Both of you let the playfulness run its course, holding each other and tittering, and once you quiet down you realize the music he’d been listening to on repeat can still be faintly heard from the kitchen.

 

“i been listenin’ to that damned song all day,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing along your cheek. “‘cause it makes me think of ya. ya really do just got that  _ somethin _ , ya know?” Your cheeks heat up and he chuckles, leaning down to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, leaving gentle nips and kisses along the skin there. Red purrs appreciatively at the sigh it earns him and he slides his hands up under your shirt, pawing at your sides, your breasts, your ribs.  His touch is honey, sweet and slow, practically dripping down your body as he takes his fill. Faintly from the kitchen, the song continues to play on repeat. Your shorts and panties are tugged down and Red teases around your opening, claws gliding up and down your wetness before dipping inside. His mouth comes to your own to capture your broken moan and he fucks you on his fingers while he kisses you; his long tongue dips into your mouth and acquaints itself with every sensitive ridge in there until you’re writhing beneath your lover, overwhelmed with his gentle touch. 

 

_ “...and when i touch you, i feel happy inside…”  _ Red hilts himself with one long, deep thrust, mouth right beside your ear as he continues to sing along. You absently wonder if he even realizes he’s singing or if he’s been listening to the song so much that the words come as second nature. After a moment of adjusting, Red nibbles at your ear and begins to move. He drives into you deeply and deliberately, each thrust rubbing you just right. 

 

“fuck, angel, yer so good...so damn good for me...so soft, so warm, so  _ beautiful…”  _ It’s a mantra, now, of sweet nothings in your ear as he thrusts into you, the vibrations of his purring running through your body. He holds you like he’s holding the world, and the way his teeth graze your shoulder when his hips give a deliciously deep thrust has you seeing stars. 

 

“ya make me so happy...yer my star, baby, my everything...yer doin so good, lettin’ me fuck ya all soft and sweet...good girl, so  _ good,  _ so  _ amazing…”  _ The pace at which he fucks into you has picked up considerably, and the wet sounds of his cock pounding in and out of you are so filthy and so unbearably  _ hot.  _ Red can’t stop the waterfall of words pouring from his mouth, an endless stream of praise unto you that makes the heat coiling in your belly tighten and swirl. You let out a squeak when a claw makes itself at home against your clit, having snaked down between the two of you without your notice, and Red grins when you begin bucking against him in earnest. 

 

“yeah babydoll, that’s it, sing fer me. ya sound so good, and ya look even better...doin so good for me babe, c’mon, give it to me, give it to daddy...lemme see ya cum, baby, such a good girl, yer doin such a good job, cum on my cock, babe, ya can do it-” You arch your back and nearly shriek as the orgasm rushes through you, and Red never stops his ministrations, murmuring praise into your ear for cumming so well for him, so beautiful, so perfect, his own release pumping into you as he growls.

 

Both of you lie there afterwards, panting and gasping, slick with sweat and release. Finally, Red lets his body slump forward beside you and he wraps you in a tight embrace, face tucked into his sternum. He twines his legs with yours and plays with a strand of your hair. You feel relaxed. You feel sated. And as the two of you begin to drift off to sleep, and you feel claws lacing themselves into your hand to hold it as you rest…

 

You feel loved.


	2. Sweet Dreams

People always did say that Sans slept like the dead.

 

He really had no choice in the matter-- when living so long with someone as boisterous as Papyrus, one learns to sleep through even the most raucous of noises, whether it was an ungodly hour of the morning or well into the evening. After a lifetime of perfecting this sleeping prowess, Sans liked to believe it near impossible to shake him from his rest.

 

This is why when he jolts awake at the sound of metal cookware clattering around downstairs, Sans is positive he’s still dreaming.

 

Feeling as though he’s already awoken while actually still being asleep is nothing new for Sans-- his dreams are frequently hyper realistic, more often than not having the sensation of reliving a memory (many of which he would like to leave tucked safely in the recesses of his mind.) However, something about this dream is...different.

 

His soul isn’t beating a violent rhythm against his ribs. The essence of his magic is calm and at ease, nowhere near the desperate rush he usually feels in these lucid dreams. What is possibly strangest of all is the location: instead of the stained glass and crumbling stone of the Judgement Hall, Sans finds himself blinking owlishly around the bedroom he shares with you. He finds confused comfort in the dirty clothes strewn about the floor, fairy lights strung up along the ceiling and photographs tacked into the wall. He runs his bones along the soft cotton sheets he’s tangled himself in and glances at the bedroom door.

 

It’s open, and he can hear gentle footsteps on the floor below accompanied by the clinking of dishes every so often.

 

Sans rolls out of bed, bones heavy but Soul light as air, shuffling out of the bedroom and down the hall to the top of the stairs. He leans over the banister to look at the living room down below. The room is dark, shades drawn and lights off, but a warm yellow glow is pouring from the room beside it.

 

Someone’s in the kitchen.

 

Sans slides down the stairs one step at a time, socked feet silent against the carpeted steps. A saccharine scent permeates the air and only gets stronger the closer Sans gets to the kitchen. He peeks around the wall that separates the living room from the kitchen, eye lights flitting around a bit nervously, searching for whoever his brain conjured up to be in the kitchen at this hour--

 

Oh. 

 

It’s you. 

 

 

This is unexpected. 

 

You’re sat upon the counter beside the oven, wearing nothing but his oversized blue jacket and a pair of panties, a lopsided grin settled on your face. Your hair is mussed as though you had simply rolled out of bed and gotten to work, and there’s a smear of icing along the apple of your cheek that you must not have been able to reach with your tongue. 

 

In your lap is a large silver bowl, the contents of which you stir at a languid pace. On the counter beside you a cake is cooling on a rack while a second cake appears to be baking in the oven. You’re oblivious to his arrival and remain focused on whatever it is you’re stirring. 

 

You’re humming a tune that he recognizes from the tv, some cartoon Frisk was watching last week that he can’t recall the name of. Everything about this moment seems surreal, too blissful to be true. You seem to sense his staring and glance up, the gentle grin on your face blossoming into a wide smile, eyes dancing with joy despite your obvious fatigue.

 

“Oh! Hey, you,” your voice carries softly across the kitchen, “what are you doing up so early?” He doesn’t answer aside from a small smile at the sound of your voice, soothing to his Soul. You continue, “I woke up when Papy left for his morning training session with Undyne, and I couldn’t get back to sleep, so...I decided to make some cakes? Hope I didn’t wake you.” 

 

Sans shakes his head a bit (because no, silly, of course you didn’t wake him-- he’s still asleep, right?) and shuffles across the floor to you, tugging a chair from the kitchen table to sit at your side while you work. The air is still and calm, broken only by the sounds of your stirring and your voice lilting out notes. Sans is lulled by the sounds and falls into a bit of a daze as he watches you stir, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...

 

“This song makes me think of us.” Sans glances up with a bit of a start at your comment, surprised at the interjection amid your humming. You giggle down at him and set your bowl to the side, reaching forward to instead pull his skull into your lap. The softness of your palms against his bones is heaven as you begin to stroke the back of his head. 

 

“Recognize it? Y’know…’if I could begin to be half of what you think of me...I could do about anything, I could even learn how to love…’” Your smile softens and you sigh, leaning down to place a kiss along the ridge of his nasal bone. Sans giggles at the contact, your lips sticky sweet with icing, and you titter along with him. His eyelights are growing hazy. Sans finds it funny that somehow, even while dreaming, he finds himself growing tired still. 

 

“keep singin’ to me,  _ sugar,  _ your voice just sounds so  _ sweet. _ ” You roll your eyes but are ready to comply, and just as you pull in a breath to resume your singing Sans feels the phrase bubble up in his chest. This moment is so perfect, everything is just so  _ right  _ with you, and he wants to say it. He  _ needs  _ to say it.

 

“hey. i love you.” 

 

You freeze. He would too, if this were actually happening and he were truly admitting his love for you for the first time, but in his dreams he can say whatever he wants, so it rolls warmly off his tongue without the thudding Soul he would expect to come along with it. You remain quiet for just a few moments before hugging him to your body a bit tighter. Quietly (and sounding just a bit choked up) you continue to sing.

 

“Look at you go, I just adore you, I wish that I knew...what makes you think I’m so special?...” 

 

 

 

Sans wakes up to the ceiling of your shared bedroom, sunlight streaming bright through the window and illuminating the room. His body feels refreshed, as it does after a night of his sleep isn’t plagued by terrors. Sans peeks to the side and finds you curled up in bed beside him, covers tugged up to your chin and the ghost of a smile curling at your lips. 

 

Ah, that’s right. He’d dreamt of you. 

 

Unusual, but still Soulwarming all the same- his chest grows warm as he remembers the pleasant domesticity of his dream. He’s about to roll over and rejoin you in slumber when something catches his eyes. You’ve got something on your face. His bones reach out and brush against your cheek; your face scrunches up at the soft disturbance, eyelashes fluttering as you open your eyes and roll to face him more. His Soul does somersaults when he realizes what’s smeared across your cheek. It’s food.

 

...Icing, to be specific. 

 

Sans can feel the heat of his magic as it engulfs his face in a deep blue blush, shoulders going tight and mouth dry as sand. You smile up at him, enjoying the show, and playfully whisper, “Good morning, Sans. How’d you sleep? Have any... _ sweet dreams? _ ” 

 

He slides back down on the bed and yanks the duvet up over his skull, turning his back towards you so that he can curl in on himself and wallow in embarrassment privately. You place a hand on his back and he shrinks in on himself even further. 

 

“Hey, dude, no need to be shy! If you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s cool. But...just in case you were wondering...I love you too, Sans.” 

 

Sans makes a noncommittal noise from under the covers and you chuckle, pressing a kiss against his head through the blanket before cuddling around him and beginning to hum the song again. 

 

You politely say nothing as Sans begins to hum along with you. Under the covers, Sans smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u kno where to find me lol *finger guns* @modambrosia on tungle dot com


	3. Tease Me, Please Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slips in through a crack in the fuckin void* hey whats up college is causing my physical body to crumble apart into billions of frantically screaming atoms and i have no idea what im doing with my life. i lost all energy to draw and write for a while there but this just kinda happened around 5 am so i figured id give it to yall so u kno im not dead yet lol!!!!!!!!!!!

Red forces the groan itching at the back of his throat to subside, body taught and dripping with sweat. Every atom of his being is standing at attention and threatening to burst.  _ He can’t do this. He cannot, absolutely can fucking not do this.  _ It’s just too much. He may be a strong monster, but this? It’s damn near enough to make him regret his words from earlier. What had he said again?

 

_ “You can beg all ya want, but ya can’t make me do a damn thing. I’m unbreakable, baby. Soul a’ steel over here.”  _

 

Ah, yes. 

 

Famous last words.

 

A whispery moan from the bed across the room draws Red out of his self pitying spiral and his focus pinpoints back on you. You’ve moved on from your breasts, letting the sore, pert little buds of your nipples have a moment of reprieve as you move instead further down your body. His eye lights train on the motion of your hands as they smooth over your ribs, the soft swell of your stomach, millimeter after millimeter of silky skin beneath your palms until fingertips ghost along the hem of your panties. 

 

“Fuck, Red, I’m so  _ hot, _ ” you whimper, knowing perfectly well how susceptible he is to that needy little tone. Red doesn’t move. Can’t. If he does, it’s over for him-- you win, and despite what his lazy facade may lead others to believe, Red  _ hates  _ to lose. It takes everything he’s got to stay seated, though. His only response is a soft grunt of acknowledgement from his spot in the lounge chair across from you, claws digging into the armrests and cock throbbing painfully in the confines of his pants. A small creaking sound echoes into the room and Red barely has enough sense to realize it’s the wood of the seat succumbing to his forceful hold. 

 

You smirk knowingly, and Red hates that he loves it so much. 

 

Drool pools against his tongue when you breach the panty line, fingers gliding through coarse hair to reach what Red can only describe as Heaven on Earth. He can tell the exact moment your fingers brush against your clit in the way the muscles in your stomach jump just barely from initial shock, the way one of your eyebrows quirks up as though surprised at just how sensitive your body is.  _ Fucking delicious. He can’t fucking do this. He’s not gonna make it.  _ You coo soft and sweet, gentle motions hidden by nothing more than a single strip of cloth, infuriating and tantalizing all at once. Red can practically taste you on his tongue just from hearing the muted shuffling sound of the back of your hand against your underwear. Pavlov would be proud of how far his discovery has-- heh--  _ cum.  _

 

A single bead of sweat drips down the side of your face and Red wants to leap over there like a fucking dog and lick it all off your face. You know it, too, and the direct eye contact between you as a little pink tongue darts out to lick it yourself is such a blatant taunt he ought to toss you over his knee and spank you till you cum. 

 

“I’m soaked, babe, it’s literally an ocean down there,” you quip. He can tell. He can fucking hear it. Hearing you say so just makes the obscene slick sounds all the more apparent. The unspoken joke about Red going for a swim hangs in the air unsaid, but he’s too focused on not cumming in his pants to seize the opportunity. 

 

You let him suffer like that for a few minutes, forcing him to sit quietly and listen to your cunt sing siren song to him, before you decide to really go for it. Red draws a deep, shuddering breath when you suddenly lean back and spread your bent legs further apart. The hand that isn’t working away at your cunt reaches down and tugs your damp panties to the side, drawing back the curtain so Red can finally see what kind of show is going on behind. Your pussy glistens like a goddamned diamond. 

 

“Come on Red,” you simper, “don’t you want me?” 

 

“Ya know I do, ya lil’ fuckin’  _ minx,”  _ Red finally breaks his silence to snap in response, voice tight with frustration. You giggle victoriously and just a bit breathlessly, giddy with success, and Red rolls his eyes to combat the smile on his face. Even getting on his last fucking nerve, you’re adorable. The smile is swiftly removed when you sink two fingers inside your cunt without warning and let a low moan reverberate from your chest. You scoot your body back to rest against the headboard and shimmy out of your underwear so that both hands can be of use again and bring the other one down to toy with your clit; he can hardly stand the way your mouth drops open, breath coming in soft little gasps, thighs twitching from electric shocks of sensation. 

 

He doesn’t notice until you smile through your moans that Red has begun to growl. It’s vexing, but Red doesn’t even bother trying to stop himself. You bite your lip and take a break from your ministrations to spread your lips, offering a perfect view of just what Red’s missing out on, and he could actually cry from how badly he wants to just sink right home into your heat. 

 

“It's so hot, Red, I can’t take it...please, come on, fuck me already...please?” Red grunts and shakes his head, but one trembling hand snakes down to roughly palm the ache between his legs. Your hips wiggle side to side, cunt twitching from being so exposed to the cool air of the room, and Red can tell you’re just as affected as he is from how you tremble. Red continues to barely thrust into his hand while you display yourself so beautifully, sweat dribbling down the back of his skull, breath beginning to catch on deep huffs with every exhale.  _ He ain’t broken yet. Maybe he can do this. He’s still holdin’ on by a thread-- _

 

“Bet your cock is so fucking hard right now,” you mention almost casually. 

 

“Oh fuck,” Red whispers, the words coming out of him as though he was punched in the gut. 

 

“God, bet your cock is just  _ rock hard... _ you know how much I love your cock, Red, it’s so fucking thick, fills me up so full, so  _ tight…”  _

 

“This ain’t fair,” he tries weakly, voice breaking, sockets screwed shut from the onslaught of arousal so heavy it’s almost painful. You’re playing dirty and you know it, but technically you’re not cheating. He never said you couldn’t use his kinks against him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it. You laugh around a moan when you begin to touch yourself again, and the quiet slick sounds of your dripping cunt accompanied by your voice is quickly breaking Red’s resolve. 

 

“I need it so bad, Red, need that big fat cock pounding into my pussy...c’mon, please,  _ please,  _ fuck me-- it’ll feel so good, your huge cock pumping into me, stuffing me full, I wanna-- God, I wanna cum, wanna cum on your cock, wanna squeeze you so tight and warm and hard, wanna feel you fill me up with that huge, perfect cock--” 

 

Your rambling cuts off in a gasp as Red pounces on you in a flash, snarling and frantic, yanking himself free of his pants just in time to sink into you with one quick thrust. The squeal you let out is high and delighted, and Red wastes no time, immediately picking up a brutal pace. You were right-- the way your cunt clenches around him is sinful and he can barely keep from melting into a puddle between your thighs from how fucking  _ amazing  _ it feels to slam himself into you. 

 

It’s his turn to speak and he leans close over your body so that his fangs are pressed up against the dip between your neck and shoulder. “Yeah, baby,” he croons, obsessed with the way you throw your arms around his neck and scream for him, “ya did it-- ‘m a broken man. Yer feminine wiles were--  _ hah, f-fuck--  _ too much... t-too much fer--  _ fuck, stop squeezing, stop squeezing--!”  _

 

You titter like a fiend while Red desperately fucks you, voice climbing ever higher in his interrupted words as you squeeze tight around him. Red gives up on all higher mental function in favor of pistoning himself into you, chasing the orgasm that’s been coiling in his gut for over an hour now. He reaches a hand up and slides it under your shoulders to hold you close, and something about the shift in position has you seeing stars; you shriek and dig your nails against his scapula just the way he likes it as a show of thanks. 

 

The walls of your cunt flutter against him maddeningly and Red makes sure to reach a hand between your bodies to swipe against your clit so that your orgasm absolutely destroys you. It works wonders and your entire body contracts as you cum, eyes wide and unseeing, a guttural moan ripping out of you as the waves of pleasure wash over your Soul. Red isn’t far behind, and he whimpers embarrassingly as he finally reaches his peak. Shivers trail down his spine and you pet his skull while he rocks his pelvis against you until his cock stops twitching with little spurts of cum. Dizzy from euphoria, Red flops over to your side, and the two of you lay there and try to catch your breath. 

 

“...I win,” you whisper; he doesn’t need to look at your face to know you’ve got a shit eating grin somewhere on there. Quick as lightning, Red snatches a pillow up from behind his head and brings it down to wallop against your face. The indignant squawk you make has him breaking down into belly laughs, and once you turn toward him and shoot a playful glare, he rolls back on top of you and licks your jawline that’s still wonderfully salty with sweat. 

 

“You might’ve won the battle, doll, but ‘m gonna win the war.”

 

“...what does that even  _ mean,  _ you goober?”

 

“Means ‘m gonna fuck ya at  _ least  _ two more times before we go downstairs fer some snacks. Shaddup and spread em, sweetheart.”

 

Somehow, his threat only seems to spur you on. The glint in your eye would make him nervous if he had any sense of self preservation. 

 

(Red loses the war as well. You finish the busy evening by sucking him off till he squeals for mercy; he doesn’t have enough strength in his legs to stand until noon the next day.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i dont respond to anyone ever im bad at both social media and also human interaction in general. pls dont worry about me im genuinely just a fuckin booger. should i make an art twitter or an insta or whatever yall did after tumblr exploded??? i draw a little bit still but hardly any nsfw stuff anymore bc looking back at my old stuff makes my entire body cringe into oblivion lmfao does anyone have any interest in that?? 
> 
> sorry if i disappear for another 10 thousand years after posting this. i am, and i cannot stress this enough, the worst 
> 
> *t poses and clips back into the void for, like, a millennia i guess*


End file.
